


Set me free *Complete*

by SnapeLove



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BDSM, BDSM!Therapy, Blow Jobs, Challenge Response, Complete, Dominance, F/M, Fear, Flogging, Healing, Licking, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Sensation Play, Sex, Spanking, Submission, Tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-04-14 13:23:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14136912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnapeLove/pseuds/SnapeLove
Summary: Hermione has problems and she is at the end of the rope when Luna suggests to her a very unconventional therapy with the most shocking and unexpected wizard.  The therapy works but to what end?





	1. Letting go

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world,  
> which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. This story is purely for entertainment purposes, no money is being made from it.
> 
> A/N: Written for a monthly challenge.
> 
> Rules:  
> Minimum 650 word count for each chapter  
> March- Tears&Fears
> 
> Huge, huge thank you to my beta - Loki God of Evil  
> You may also blame her why this story will have 5 chapters instead being a one-shot as originally planned ^_^

She shivers. Small tremors are tugging on her muscles. Forcing those tremors to subside, she breathes.

In and out.

Deep calming breaths.

Why did I ever listen to Luna of all people?

She'sasking herself that same question each time she comes here. But, she knows why. She needs this, desires it. This is her last hope, because - nothing else is working. Therefore, this is her last straw before she drowns. And even if it is shocking to her, not just what, but also whom Luna suggested, - she still signed up for it.

So, here she is.

Naked.

Shivering, while the cold hand of fear squeezes her brain.

But, she is tired, so very tired. She can not handle this anymore, and if this doesn't work...then, she will be lost. She cant handle it - the stress, the constant control, the responsibility. She helps, she does all she can, she's supposed to be the responsible one. She thinks she still is, or at least she hopes.

She can't take it anymore! She is hurting, she is tired, and she can't stop, can't let it go.

Twisting her wrists nervously, the coarse rope begins to bite at her skin.

It's not like she is tied up for the first time. Still...

Panic! Paranoia! She finds that she can't breathe. Feeling like the air that surrounds her is in short supply, she gasps for it, in short, hungry gulps.

"Relax. Breathe. You are safe." A rough, gravelly voice washes over her. A calming balm for her fried nerves.

Her brain and her body are at odds with one another. Her brain, still active, panicked, devising an escape route. Signalling to her that she is in danger. Telling her that she can't let go and rest. That she can't trust anyone. Her body tells a different story. She feels her muscles relax at the sound of the masculine voice.

_Don't raise your eyes. You don't have permission. Just let it go, you are not the one in control. Embrace it._

All she can see is the small patch of the floorboard. These are the same boards that cause pain in her knees every time she visits. It is an odd sensation, it almost feels like the floor is pressuring her from beneath. It is unfamiliar and yet familiar bite, but not unwelcome. As long as she can feel it - she is alive.

Her brain feels frozen from fear on the surface, but deep inside it is like a lava grotto. Still planning on ways of escape, or to turn the situation to her advantage, to take back control.

_No, no more control. I-I don't want it!_

In and out.

Breathe.

Her muscles flex, going taut and then relax. Her whole body twitches.

_Focus!_

She listens to the slow grind of leather soled boots on the floor.

A whoosh of fabric as he walks by. Purposefully making slow circles around her, yet just out of her peripheral. Not getting close to her, not touching her. She can feel his presence, it fills the room, as always, domineering. 

This is not their first session, and she knows he won't touch her - he never does. At least not skin on skin.

Not unless… but today...

She is naked, and still, this is not sexual, at least not in a conventional way. Her brain knows this has nothing to do with sex. Not for him, not for her,... well, it wasn't - before. She is surprised to feel the slow trickle of moist from her core.

_Will he be angry if he finds out? What if he refuses to…?_

The breath hitching in her throat.

 _Gods!_ She feels suffocation looming. Fear and arousal, they mix together, blending in effortlessly. She must let go, needs to let it go or find herself invariably doomed to suffer longer. Her muscles flex, going rigid the longer she remains.

_Relax! He told you, whatever happens just embrace it, don't fight it._

She takes a long breath and releases it slowly.

Her muscles relax.

"That's it. Don't fight it." That voice is her life-line, her salvation and also her doom.  How can all three be so right and yet so wrong?

Over the weeks she had learned to trust him. It is almost like the Pavlov reflex - Operant conditioning - each command pushes her body to follow for some small reward, a voice. Her body, but not her mind - not yet.

"What do you need, Miss Granger?"

He is circling around her, like a vulture. Predatory in style and stance. But she is safe, feels safe. Her body knows, even her brain is comprehending. She knows - today he'll push her to let go. They talked about it.

She knows what she has to do. Though, she is not sure if she can, just yet.

She knows what the answer is that he wants to hear. She is not ready.

But then, she is as ready as she can be.

Breathe...

In and out...

"I need for my brain to stand still, Sir," her words slide over her pursed lips, shaky, voice thin.

Silence...

The grind of the leather soled boots twisting on the aged wood grain of the floorboards.

"How do you think that can happen?" His voice is deep and sharp.

That is not what she expects. He should have all the answers. He should offer the solution. But this puts her in control and she doesn't want that.

"I know what you need. I just want to hear you say it. To understand it."

_Yes, that makes more sense._

"Take your time - think about it." His voice soothing, yet stern.

She needs that push - desperately. He will help her, but to let go - that's all on her. The connection is pre-established, she trusts him implicitly. Today is the day.

It is a scary prospect.

Scary to know that today she has to ask for the pain.

A scary prospect that today she is determined to embrace it.

Then, again, also scary to know that today she will do her best to surrender - completely and irrevocably to it.

Breathe...

In and out...

"I… I need flogging, Sir."

"Very well. Are you going to fight me today Miss Granger?"

"No, Sir."

"You know what I want to hear then." His voice is calm, controlled and she relaxes at his demanding tone. "Position yourself and say the words."

She lowers her body until her forehead touches the floor. She arranges her bound arms to clear the path on her back, resting the wrists on the small of her back. This is not a most common position for what she is about to ask - in fact, it's most uncommon. She studies the books so she knows.

_Why is he allowing it then?_

Safe...

She feels safe in this position. She needs that, so he adjusted to her needs. Sudden realisation further melts the tension from her body.

_I'm safe..._

It is much easier to say the words now. "I need you to use the flogger on my back, Sir. Please, Sir."

She knows what she asks for. That would put pressure on him, not just because of the uncommon position but also because the skin on the back is much easier to break and welt. He has to be careful, to give her what she needs but also not to harm her in any way that will cause undue damage.

Both of them are aware of that fact.

And that is why he allowed this position, gave her the choice.

She is scared again...

And she needs to let go of the fear that seems to want to hold her back, let go of the control.

Now, he has all the control. Her well being, as well as her peace of mind, both are in his hands.

"You know the drill, Miss Granger. Yellow if we get too close, Red for stop?"

"Yes, Sir."

A soft whistle of leather rips through the air.

Sting.

Pain.

Fear!

_I need to escape. To defend myself. No! Trust. Let go. Relax._

Another whistle and sting.

The skin on her back warms up. She focuses her attention on that warmth.

Breathe...

In and out...

Her insides clench and unclench with each strike.

The warmth dissipates and her back arches.

"Please, Sir, more." _Is this me?_

Stinging pain again. Her brain is a manic hamster in the wheel, looking for a way out. Her body is almost completely boneless.

_Focus on your body, it knows._

A keen sting...

The warmth is back. She breathes in relief. Her knees slide more apart, her body sinks lower to the ground. She has not felt this relaxed for an age, so it would seem.

Sting...

The voices in her head are becoming quiet. She doesn't want to defend herself anymore. She trusts him.

"Please, Sir, more."

"The number of lashes is my decision Miss Granger, not yours." He says it so calmy. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

His tone relaxes her.

Sting...

She doesn't have to make the decision. She trusts him. She believes that he will take care of her, he will take care of everything.

Sting.

She doesn't have to worry anymore.

Sting.

She can relax. She is relaxed.

Sting.

Tears!

Tears start to flow down her cheeks. No, not from pain. She doesn't feel pain.

She is relaxed.

She doesn't need to take care of anyone, of anything. She is taken care of.

Quiet sobs shake her body.

She is lifted into a sitting position. The ropes are gone. Skin! He is rubbing her shoulders, careful not to touch the part where a stray strand of flogger caught her.

He _never touched_ her before. He _never used_ the flogger on her before. He _never used anything but his words_ on her before. Now, he is kneeling next to her. His hands grip her in a loose embrace, fingers clasp the small of her back. Her back is raw and he avoids touching them.

He will heal her back later if she allows it.

Her skin is warm from the sweat and repeated strikes from the flogger. Her front is warm, flushed. His body heat seeps through the scratchy material. Sobs wrack her body. She hugs him! _How surreal is this?_

Tears are soaking through the collar of his dark robe. Her cheek pressed on the rough and uneven skin on his neck. Sharp stubble is scratching her neck. Greasy strands of hair tickle her cheek.

She isn't bothered by it.

She is safe.

Taken care off.

She is relaxed.

She doesn't worry anymore.

"That's it. Just let it go. I've got you." He murmurs into her ear.

She is safe.

Tears streak down her face with the force of letting it all go. Tears are good, cleansing.

There is no more fear, no more anxiety just tears - and she relishes in the feel of them as they continue to trail her flushed cheeks.


	2. Disjointed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. This story is purely for entertainment purposes, no money is being made from it.
> 
> A/N: Written for a monthly challenge.
> 
> Rules:  
> Minimum 650 word count for each chapter  
> April- AU April
> 
> In agreement with my beta – I’m posting this chapter unedited when she finishes with fixing the grammar and with me, I will re-post this chapter at a later date.  
> At that time, I do expect that some parts will be enhanced and there will be no grammatical errors.  
> I leave it to you to read it now or wait some more.  
> When I upload edited chapter I’ll remove this note :)

__

_What the hell am I doing?_

The thought swims in his mind. Lost in a sea of sensations, both sensory ones and internal. He doesn‘t touch, he fucks on occasion, but not ever those he helps. And there were a fair few in the past years.

_How did I get myself into this situation?_

A thousand galleons question. One for which answer eludes him.

She shivers in his embrace, soft sobs shaking her slender form.

Blood roars in his ears, he fights its call. It pumps through his veins with the force he forgot he possesses. Making him feel alive.

_I survived._

It is one of the answers. How? No one knows. But he did survive. He _is_ alive. For seven long years, he is but a shell. A little more than an Inferi.

She nuzzles his neck. The sensitive marred skin. Just one in a sea of scars - visible and invisible ones. The rough patch of flesh, dead at its rims but overly sensitive in the centre, where new skin formed.

_The bloody snake failed._

They came to collect his body after the battle. He was in shock from loss of blood. He was paralyzed from the venom. But he was alive. Poppy declared him alive, poured potions into his mouth. Patched him up with a needle and a thread - like a torn out robe.

Blood sings in his veins. He ignores its call.

_How did I get myself in this situation?_

He was pardoned. He received the Order of Merlin. He had enough funds to buy this place. A small used books store with a tiny flat above it. When loneliness and isolation started to erode him he ventured into the establishment well known among Death Eaters.

_How did I get myself in this situation? Ah, Miss Lovegood._

He found Miss Lovegood. She was lost and placing herself in danger. He protected her, helped her. Healed her the only way he knew how.

She brought so many after that. And he did help as much as he could. But never… Not a single one of them… He didn’t touch. With hands or implements. He avoided contact.

Her tears soak his coarse wool robes. They fall on his skin. Each of them burns like acid. Each of them eats through his resolve. She feels like precious china in his arms.

“That’s it. Just let it go. I’ve got you.” he murmurs into her ear.

_So, why now? I caved._

When Miss Lovegood brought her he said “No”. His first reaction - refusal. As if he knew even then. An instinct. Too much history. Too much…

Miss Lovegood is no threat to his solitary existence, a bird of a feather. The others - just lost souls he guided back on the path. But she-she is different. She is the same. Broken in the same way. He felt it, feels it. A mirror image with just one difference.

They complement each other.

_I caved. Lost._

Her embrace tightens. It forces the air out of his lungs, not by strength but with its actuality. He calms his breath. Pulling her closer. Slightly drifting apart. It wouldn’t be wise to let her notice...

Her breath scorches his skin.

He suppresses slight tremor of his body.

Taking a deep breath - almonds and chamomile. Arousal. He can smell her.

_It doesn’t mean anything._

He knows. One may feel that way. But to feel and act on it are not the same.

He fights against the tensing of his muscles. He slides a bit closer. Widens his stance. Hides it from her. His own organ feels heavy and solid against his leg.

Biting the inner tissue of his cheek, he takes a deep breath.

_Mistake!_

He is still slightly lightheaded from the rush. Each strike driving him near that ledge, the one he cannot allow himself to cross.

His blood sings, it calls.

She smells like a summer meadow.

She smells like innocence.

She smells like sex.

_You are too old, too ugly for her. You are… You were her teacher._

It is all in vain. Her hair tickles his cheek. Each lash he delivered burned in his memory. Each arch of her back, a soft moan… They all run through him like poison. Calling to him. Eating away through his resolve.

Desire.

He forgot how it feels. He didn’t feel it for decades. But it is here now. It throbs in his groins. It pulsates in his prick. It forces his heart to drum in a beat unfamiliar to him. The Siren’s song. He wishes for nothing more than to get lost in her. To feel her around him. To live in her moans. To die in the ripple of her flesh.

_She is raw - vulnerable. She is confused. Her emotions run high. She does not want **you**. She will change her mind._

It doesn’t help.

Each thought stabs him. A white heat javelin through his heart and soul, what left of them. Until she came, he thought he lost them forever.

His mind and his body - disjointed.

He pulls her closer. Buries his face in her hair. Inhales.

_Something changed._

She still shivers in his embrace. Only the soft sighs of her ebbing sobs can be heard. But something changed. The air around her is different.

She leans.

Press her soft breasts against his chest. If he does not move she will feel it. The manic rhythm of his heart. If he maintains the distance - he can also maintain his control.

_She needs you to be strong for her now._

Jaw clangs forcefully, muscles cramp up. He grits his teeth.

She shifts. Press her face into his skin. Her lips touch the vein on his neck.

It burns. Her touch.

It sips a liquid fire in his bloodstream. His skin aches. His entire body aches from the need. He unclasps his hands and pries her off. Forcing her to sit on her heels.

“What are you think you are doing, Miss Granger?” _Is that my voice?_

“I, I just thought…” she stutters, voice barely a whisper

“That is not the part of the arrangement we have.” he is not harsh, but his voice is determined.

He has to be stronger than she is. He has to be strong for both of them. Her chin falls on her chest. It hurts to see her like this.

He reaches out, and coupes her face. His thumbs wipe soft tear-stained cheeks. She leans into his touch.

_Why does she have to make it so difficult?_

“I am not angry at you, Miss Granger.” he keeps his voice soft “I’ll admit this is not my usual approach, I did make certain - concessions - with you. And certain - reactions, are expected. But, that is not how you really feel.”

He’s struggling, fighting the inner beast. The one that nudges him to crush her lips with his. To sank his teeth into her soft breasts. To mark her. To take her. Here, on this hard wooden floor. She deserves better.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to… I thought that maybe you want...” she starts and he can’t take it.  Her words hold a power. Power to break him, his control. He is the one hanging by the thread now.   

He presses his thumb over her lips.

_Mistake! Soft, so soft…_

His brain takes a turn, sending an image of those soft lips wrapped around…. He shakes his head.

“This is not about what I want or don’t want. This is about you. You may feel this way now, but it will pass.”

“And what if it doesn’t pass?” her voice is teary, panicked once more. He sighs.

“Miss Granger, I do not want for you to replace one addiction with another.”

She tries to speak and his thumb presses a bit harder on her lips. It sinks a bit into a heated cave of her mouth.

_You can’t! Not now. Later, maybe… I cave again then._

“We may re-negotiate, later. After… After I decide that you no longer need healing. That your mind is sound and your decisions are your own. But not before.” He can’t prevent the sigh in his voice “If you still feel this way, after we are finished with this, you may...accost me...again.”

Huge teary eyes shine at him.

Soft brown eyes.

Intelligent eyes.

The eyes of a woman.

“And you will accept it then?”

“I won’t oppose, but we will renegotiate our arrangement.”

She stares at him for a long, long time. Silent. Tearing through his last defences with frightening ease. The thirst for her blazes. Leaving him parched. Finally, she nods.

“Go on then, get dressed. Do you want me to…” he offers.

She shakes her head and lowers her gaze.

“No. Thank you, Sir.”

With that, she stands up. Tall and slender, with curves in all the right places and all in the right size. She is athletic. Her muscles rip and jump as she walks.

His hands ball into tight fists, the last line of defence. Physical restraint.

“I’ll see you on Thursday, Miss Granger.”

Another nod, last one before she disappears behind the door. He listens. Still kneeling, he can’t afford to move or everything will be lost.  He listens, and when the outside door click - only then he unclasps his fists.

He slumps. Muscles trembling. Breathing ragged.

One arm squeeze on his painful erection. Adding the pressure to release the pressure.

His chest fill with hope. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: As you may already notice, the time between chapters is long. I apologize for that :(  
> And I have to announce that this story will be on halt until the end of May. 
> 
> My work schedule was intense but now and until the end of May will be beyond insane. Even with my best desire, I won’t have time to devote to writing.
> 
> End of May, or the first week of June at the latest you may expect me to start posting again.  
> Again, I sincerely apologise. :(


	3. Veracity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. This story is purely for entertainment purposes, no money is being made from it.
> 
> A/N: In agreement with my beta – I’m posting this chapter unedited when she finishes with fixing the grammar and with me, I will re-post this chapter at a later date.  
> At that time, I do expect that some parts will be enhanced and there will be no grammatical errors.  
> I leave it to you to read it now or wait some more.  
> When I upload edited chapter I’ll remove this note :)

****

The letters dance in front of his eyes. Letters that form words without any meaning behind them. He abandons the pretence of reading a book. It's weight like an anvil pressing on his thighs.

Shuddery breath escapes him, involuntarily.

Six months. . .

Six months passed since that day, the day he left kneeling on the wooden floor. _My undoing, my curse._

Six months of memories to the feel of her skin.

Six months of memories of her scent.

Six months of iron clad control.

He controlled them both. Desire eating through him like an acid. But. . . She never found out. And now she is healed. The day after tomorrow. . .

Their last session. . .

_I knew it was too good to be true. She is healed. . .  I lost yet again._

He steels himself for what is coming, for what he knows will happen. Pain in his chest is real but he reins it.

A growl, deep and throaty, escapes him.

Loud knocking cuts his thoughts. He ignores it. Whoever it is, he or she is persistent.  Annoyed he lurches from the chair, not giving a thought to a book now crumpled, lying askew on the floor.

He will eviscerate this annoyance at the door.

Wood creaks when he yanks the handle.

Words, vile and vitriolic die on his lips, choke him, getting stuck in his throat. His heart pummels at his ribcage with the strength of a jack-hammer.

Huge, tear-stained brown eyes take his strength away.

“I failed! I failed you! I… I…  need a...correction.” sobbing voice, her eyes glide from his to the floor “Please, Sir.”

“Miss Granger.” Good, his voice is calm.

His body sways towards her, he jerks back. Hands ball in fists. Miniscule movements. Unnoticeable to her.    

“Please, Sir.”

Each syllable, a knife through his heart. Strong fist squeezing on his oesophagus. He squares his shoulders.

_She needs you in control. She needs you strong._

His mantra, repeated so many times in past months. It is almost an imperative now.

Finally, he nods. “Go to the room. Sit to the table. Stay as you are.”

“Thank you, sir.” A soft sigh falls from her lips as she brushes past him. The contact, no matter how small - burns.

Accidental - pain multiplies.

He closes the door and walks to the cabinet.

_It’s what she needs. This is all about her._

~ S ~ S ~ S ~

A wave of relief washes over her. A brief respite before the deep feeling of dread engulfs her once more.

Fear!

Different type of fear - fear nevertheless.

The crack on the wooden table is all-consuming, she glares at it like there is a solution in it. Her eyes dart around the room. This room - her entire world.

The bare wooden floor.

Two rickety chairs.

One beat up wooden table.

Bare wooden walls.

Door open, scraping on the floor. Elegant hands, covered with black silk appear in her line of sight. Her heart drops, with a painful thud. She hates that silk with the passion. Never since that day she saw his skin, not more than his face. He didn’t approach her, hugged her or used any of the other implements on her.

He didn’t touch her in any way.

She does not understand.

She doesn’t have to as long as she received from him what she needs. Or at least that is what she tells herself.

“Miss Granger, eyes up, this is not a session.”   his voice even and calm, her eyes obey his order, mindless “Now, what is the problem?”

“I failed.” her heart starts to rush “I… I lapsed. I gave them tasks and then I .. I …. “

It hurts. She failed. Annulled everything they worked for. She failed - him.

“We talked about this, Miss Granger. You know that these moments may happen. Did you…”

“Yes!” she cries out, cutting through his clam with her panic.

_Please, don’t send me away._

“Then, I do not see that situation merits the correction.”

“I, I need it. Please…”

“Miss Granger, I told you once already and I do hope that at least you have enough brain to remember it. As I recall, memorising and reciting is one of your stronger points. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

“Yes, Sir.” she whispers. Panic rises inside her, choking her. “I can promise you, this is not a replacement of one addiction with another.”

Silence. She can feel his eyes scorching across her skin.

The only sound is a whoosh of her blood, too loud in her ears. Shivers running through her muscles, the shivers she suppresses. Finally, he rumbles.

“Very well.”

Elation.

Her eyes flicker to his face and back on the table again.

“Stay here. Do not move until I return. Eyes on the table. Your correction starts now.”

Scraping, wood on wood.

The klick of the door. Once. Twice.

Her hands shake. Heart beating, ticking in her throat like a clock.

Hands in black silk. Parchment. Inkwell. Quill.

_What is going on?_

One silk-clad finger taps on the blank sheet of a parchment.

“50 lines. Neat, easy to read. Any transgression will bring 2 additional lines. I want you to write following: _I am good. I did nothing wrong. I can make mistakes and still be fine. I don’t deserve to be punished or corrected._ ”

Everything inside her rebels. _No, this is wrong, I need to be corrected properly._  

“Sir?”

“Miss Granger, who is in charge of your corrections?”

“You are, Sir”

“Do you have a problem with your task?”

“I…” she forces herself to keep her eyes down, on the table “No, Sir.”

“Then I suggest you get started. You have precisely one hour.”

“Yes, Sir”

Her eyes are on the parchment. Prickles of tears scratch her corneas. This is not what she expected… what she wanted…

With a sigh she takes the quill, tip scrapes across the parchment. Sound grates on her nerves. She can’t understand - why lines? Why these words?

“1) I am good. I did nothing wrong. I can make mistakes and still be fine. I don’t deserve to be punished or corrected.”

_I failed. I do deserve to be corrected. I do deserve to feel that pain again._

It is her curse, that memory. The bite of a leader against bare skin. The warmth. The liberating feeling of …  

“12) I am good. I did nothing wrong. I can make mistakes and still be fine. I don’t deserve to be punished or corrected.”

_I did everything we talked about. I followed his instructions to the letter. Why am I here?_

Her hands shake.

Ragged breaths rattle in her chest.

The memory…

His solid form against her. His embrace. The softness of his skin under her lips. The slightly sour taste of his sweat. The tang of his scent.

“18) I am good. I did nothing wrong. I can make mistakes and still be fine. I don’t deserve to be punished or corrected.”

_What if he refuses me after…_

The lines on the parchment went askew. A blob of ink splashed from the tip and covered shaky uneven letters.

_From where that came from?_

She is shocked.

Confused.

_No, it can’t be. . ._

“25) I am good. I did nothing wrong. I can make mistakes and still be fine. I don’t deserve to be punished or corrected.”

_I couldn’t do that on purpose. Could I? No, I am stronger than that._

Breathe.

She is stronger than that.

Yes. She is afraid. Her fear. Now she knows. She isn’t afraid of delegating. She isn’t afraid of letting go.

“35) I am good. I did nothing wrong. I can make mistakes and still be fine. I don’t deserve to be punished or corrected. I am stronger than that.”

_Merlin, I did it on purpose. I wanted to fail! I wanted to keep on seeing him. I… I have to ask him. But what if he says ‘no’?_

Understanding.

Breathe.

Blood hums in her ears.

Peace, an odd sensation, unfamiliar, sips into her body.

“40) I am good. I did nothing wrong. I can make mistakes and still be fine. I don’t deserve to be punished or corrected. I am stronger than that.”

_I don’t want to lose . . . **him**._

The fear is gone.

The tightness in her chest is there, but it is different. Focused.

Determination.

“50) I am good. I did nothing wrong. I can make mistakes and still be fine. I don’t deserve to be punished or corrected. I am stronger than that.”

_Merlin. . . I’ll ask him. Please, please don’t let him refuse me._

“52) I am good. I did nothing wrong. I can make mistakes and still be fine. I don’t deserve to be punished or corrected. I am stronger than that.”

_Even if he says ‘no’ I’ll find the way to persuade him to change his mind._

She places the quill in the inkwell and waits.

She doesn’t see the letters.

Determination.

She wants him to take care of her. Like he did that day.

Realisation.

Everything she did in the past six months lead her to this moment. To the moment of clarity. Of what she wants. Of what she needs.  The moment of pure veracity.

She can breathe.

Door open.

The sound of rubber soles on the wood.

His heat behind her as he leans over her.

His scent - old books, pine needles, sage and mint.

“I will accept this”

Vibrations of his deep rumble resonate against her back.

“Your correction is finished, Miss Granger. We will have our conversation now.”

~ S ~ S ~ S ~

He steadies the hand that holds the parchment. She is warm and shivers like a small bird. He feels it.

Written lines change. Newly added words - a rusty dagger to his heart - but he is satisfied.

She is whole again. And even if she doesn’t want him, he is happy that she is healed.

One deep, cautious, inhale.

Last time he can feel it.

Walking around the table he sits across her.

Huge brown eyes latch on his with determination. Newfound strength, one he didn’t see before.

 _It is all about her._  He reminds himself.

“Let me hear, Miss Granger. You know how this goes.”

“You were right. I... I am ashamed to admit, but… I sabotaged our work I didn’t do it on purpose - I know that now. I know now why I did it.”

“Do you want to share it? Talk about it?”

“No. There is no need for that.”

His chest constrict.

She is pulling back. And he is there. It is not a matter of touch or control.

It is her.

Her sole presence is enough to get him there. To that edge.

“However, I’d like to exercise my right. The one you gave me.”

“And that is?”

Poison sips, it dribbles on the open wound of hope in his chest. He gave her so many ‘veto’ slips over the space of past six months. Verbal as they may be, but her brain is a tool.

“You gave me permission to accost you once more after my healing is brought to the end.”

“That is correct.” his voice is calm.

His heart threatens to rip his chest. _Merlin, just destroy me as swiftly and efficiently as I know you can._

“Well, I’m … accosting you ... now.”

Blood rushes in his ears, loud thunder.

He fights to at least looks like he’s breathing normally, but the air is in short supply.

_You rehearsed your reply to her rejection. . . What?_

“I beg your pardon, Miss Granger?”

“You told me that we will need to re-negotiate and talk, but that you are not averse… Well, did you change your mind?”

“No, my offer stands.” _Is that me?_

_What is going on?_

“Is there a need for our last session?”

“No. Not after today.” _What am I saying?!_

“Do you agree that we see in arranged time and re-negotiate then?”

“That would be acceptable.”

He nods. Detached from his actions. From his words.

She stands up. And nears him.

“Well then, we will see each other a day after tomorrow.”

She leans and lightly brushes her lips against his before she leaves the room.

The door opens and closes.

He takes sharp inhale, air cuts his throat and lungs. Air full of razor-blades.

His hands shake.

The heavy heat against his leg.

She may crave for his control . . . but she is the one that holds all the power. She may not know it - but she does.


	4. Maladroit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. This story is purely for entertainment purposes, no money is being made from it.
> 
> A/N: In agreement with my beta – I’m posting this chapter unedited when she finishes with fixing the grammar and with me, I will re-post this chapter at a later date.  
> At that time, I do expect that some parts will be enhanced and there will be no grammatical errors.  
> I leave it to you to read it now or wait some more.  
> When I upload edited chapter I’ll remove this note :)
> 
> Just the quick not for those that follow “Troment” – the chapter is written but I’m still fiddling with it, and I’ll need another day or two to post it.

This is a new kind of trial, the hardest one he faced. He clenched his hands under the table, the patina of perspiration coating his palms. The air rattles in his chest, thick as a dough.

_Breathe. Stay in control. Stay calm._

This is different.

She sits across him, calm and composed and he can’t but feel pride. She is as she is now his work after all.

“What do you want, Miss Granger?” The voice does not betray him. _Very good._

He resists the temptation to bite his cheek, instead, he bites his tongue - painfully. This must be her decision, her initiative. After all, what she is going to ask of him is vastly different than what he wants for and from her.

Her eyes widen just a fraction, rose colour her cheeks. She is an image of perfection.

“I. . . I read about this, but I won’t claim that I know how this works.” She starts, her voice mildly uncertain but determined.

_Of course you don’t._

“But, . . . I know what I want.” she states with conviction that elates him and frightens him at the same time.

“And what that might be?” He asks.

Her eyes roam around his living space. This is private, so he called her to his rooms.

“Well, it depends on what are you willing to - grant me.” She clears her throat. “I want. . . No, _I need_ to feel it again! That sting and that warmth. The flogger.” She clarifies.

“That can be arranged.” He nods. Hands twisting where she can’t see them.

“But, I want more!” She continues and his heart lurches in his throat, choking him. “I won’t claim that I know what I like or what I have taste for, but. . . Well, you see, I did a bit of reading.”

_Of course you did._

“I know I like the flogger. I like the feel of ropes, being tied up. I don’t like too much of pain but in small amounts. . . I’d like to try candles as well. I think I wouldn’t mind blindfold. . . I know, I think it’s not much, and probably very limiting but. . .” She swallows hard, the first crack in her posture.

“Do you want to be controlled  or in control?”

“Controlled. I - _need_ \- for you to take care of me.” She breathes out.

“Take care of you how? In the playroom? Only during playtime or in general?” His voice is calm but his insides flutter.

“In the bedroom, ummm - playroom, that is.” A lovely blush creeps into her cheeks. “I like to call you ‘Sir’.”

“Very well. Flogger, any other implements?” He asks and she blinks at him. “Spanking?”

“Yes, I’d like to try.” Now she sounds eager, and his cock twitches, filling despite the high level of anxiety he’s trying to fight off.

“Whips, paddles, cane, crops, twase. . .” He stops, she is blinking at him.

“Ummm maybe paddles and crops.” her voice is getting more quiet, her face more red.

“Intensity of pain?” He asks, his throat constricting.

“I. . . I like a little of pain but I don’t really know how much is too much.” she admits, and he nods. _I know that._

“What parts of the body?”

“What?” her eyes widen.

“What parts of the body you prefer for impact play?” He clarifies. He should be doing this differently, but the only way to stay in control is to approach this matter in this way.

“Umm, my back for a flogger, my - ummmm - behind for the other. We could test the other parts, maybe.” She is uncertain and he can understand. He fights his body, his _need_ to stand up, walk around the table and hug her. Comfort her.

“Bondage by rope. Any specific way?” He asks. He hopes while fear turns into an icy fist in the pit of his stomach. His cock is full now, heavy and throbbing.

_It doesn’t mean much. It doesn’t mean that she would want you._

“My hands, but I’m open to try more. But not the one that leaves. . . that is. . .” She chokes, shyness emerging and his heart flaps like a trapped bird.

“Blindfold, what else?”

“Just. . . blindfold. I know it’s not much or. . . .” She starts in a rush, and he cuts her off

“You want what you want, Miss Granger. Do not be ashamed of it, and do not apologize for it. Do not accept what you are not willing to go through and even if you do. . . It is all right to change your mind. After all, safe words are there for a reason.” He instructs her “Shall we continue, then?”

She nods.

“Humiliation?” _Please say no._ He can’t bring himself to do that to her. He has his own limits and he is aware of them. She shakes her head ‘no’ with zeal and he breathes out slowly.

“Biting, scratching, tickling?”

“Yes, I mean - no. No to tickling. The other two - yes. And I don’t mind if my hair is pulled.”

“Any other implements beside candles?”

“Ummm, like what?”

“Needles, nipple clamps, ball gags...” He starts but she looks scared so he stops.

“No, nothing that chokes or cause bruises, nothing that breaks the skin.”

_Thank you, Salazar._

His stomach clenched, he is quiet, fighting the urge to beg instead of asking. His throat constricting in a throbbing manner, synchronising with the desperate throb of his groins.

“Penetration?” He manages to sound calm, controlled even if he’s anything but.

_Stay calm. It is what she wants. It is all about her._

Except, it isn’t - not anymore. This is a different kind of game. They are equal in this, now. It is as much about him as it is about her. But he knows.

The desperation.

He will ascend to almost anything she asks of him. He is weak, so weak in the face of her.   _Damn you, Luna._

“Oh, Gods! Yes. . . Please.”

 _Is she pleading with me? Why? It still doesn’t mean. . . She may not want -_ **_me_ ** _._

“In what way?”

“I don’t. . .”

_What is so confusing? It is all about her. Stay in control._

The words hurt his throat as he speaks. “Penetration with what?”

“Well, sex.” She still sounds confused but then she smiles, a smile that shatters the ice inside his lungs. “I don’t mind other - things. But _I want to have sex_ with you.”

She is crimson in her face. Big brown eyes are feverish, they flicker around the room avoiding him.

“What orifice?”

“Ummm - the usual way, I guess. I mean I never tried. . . Well, there is one thing or two.” She clears her throat. His heart beating in his throat, his palms are beyond sweaty at this point. “Okay, three things. No gloves. And I’d like to. . . That is if you don’t mind. . . I’d love to - taste you. Ummm, like a giveyouablowjob. You don’t have to reciprocate.” She burps out.

“I have no objections, to either receiving or giving the oral pleasure.”

That is an understatement. The memory of her smell made his mouth water. He would sell the little of his soul that is left to taste her.

“You really don’t need to if you don’t . . . like it.”

“Have you had a bad experience before?”

She blushes and nods. “Not bad, but it is not pleasant if you are going to look like I fed you with something ghastly.”

_What kind of imbecile was she been with?_

It is a personal challenge now. To show her. . . It is also a selfish desire. To tie her up, not in a physical sense, but to make her want more. More of _him_.

“Leave to me to be the judge what I do or do not like, Miss Granger. What would be the third?”

“What? Oh, yes. I don’t mind kneeling in front of you, and I do like when you - order me around, but I don’t know what I like really so. . .”

“That is a given. We will use green-yellow-red signals for you. My safeword is ‘tumbleweed’”

Her eyes are huge now, he could drown in their shade.

“Do not look so surprised, Miss Granger. I as well have my limitations, and I won’t go over them. Should you ask of me something that I’m not comfortable with - I have a full right to stop the play as much as you do.” A safety net for him, he needs it. _It is better this way._ “Now, if that is all we may go to the bedroom.”

They stand up. He swiftly wipes his hands over his robes. He nearly walks on her when she suddenly stops and twirls to face him.

“One more thing. The kiss. I’d like you to…”

_So weak. Keep it together._

He stops her words with his lips. The taste of her, the sweetness is overpowering. The soft caress of her full flesh, the wet swipe of her tongue over his mouth.

_Too early for that._

He pulls back.

He leads her to the room, wordless. He can’t speak now to save his life. His oesophagus is painfully constricted.  

He prays that she reads his actions as dominance. When he finds his voice it is rough but still commanding. _Good._

“Take off your clothes.”

She struggles.

She is in hurry.

He steps in to help.

Pain blooms across his cheek, in her hurried struggle. . . he stepped closer to help, her hand freed the other hand from the sleeve and caught him over the face.

Huge scared eyes.

“It is all right, Miss Granger. I came too close to you. I won’t hold it against you. However, the grace is something you need to learn.”

One of her hands is inside the robe but other is still free. With her free hand, she reaches for his pulsating cheek.

Her hand is soft. So soft. So tender.

He struggles. He fights the need to lean into the touch.

His poison.

His desire.

The tenderness.

He is never on the receiving end of it. . . Until now.

It hurts him.

It elates him. 

Makes him wanting her even more. Desiring to give her everything she deserves, and more. So much more.

He fights the urge to close his eyes.

“Finish your undressing.” He rasps, his voice is rough.

Eyes soak every bit of revealed skin. He saw her naked before, plenty of times but. . . this is different.  

_Stay in control._

“It starts now.” He notifies her and her eyes fall to the floor.

_This is wrong._

It is not. She is impeccable so far. What is wrong is his desire to have her bright gaze on him. He sits on the bed, still fully dressed.

“Come here, Miss Granger.”

She walks slowly and stands between his slightly parted thighs. Sneaking one hand into a soft fizz of curls he clenches his fist and she gasps.

_Tumbleweed indeed._

He pulls her down for a kiss. She obeys him without restraint.

Elation.

“Over my lap.”

She sprawls over his lap, her chest on the bed. He runs a hand down her back and over the soft milky white globes of her but.

So soft.

He could worship her - in a way...he does.

She shivers.

_Fear. No, anticipation with a touch of fear._

His need to reassure her, to calm her crushing him.

“We will start slow, and work our way up. I want you to tell me when it gets too intense for you to handle. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Green?”

“Green, Sir?”

He suppresses his own trembling of muscles. He resists the notion to pet her until she stops to shiver.

The skin on his cheek burns, still fluttering where she touched him.

_This is about her. Stay in control._


	5. Crescendo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. This story is purely for entertainment purposes, no money is being made from it.
> 
> A/N: Special thanks to my dear Holdt for helping me to work out few kinks out of this chapter. 
> 
> On another note, I know I should be waiting with posting this chapter, but with my work spinning hectically out off control I think it is safer this way.

She can’t suppress the shivers.

No, it is not fear - not in the real sense. She knows fear, intimately. This is something else, something new.

She was almost petrified during their conversation. He was as he always is, calm and collected. Not distant, more present but unreachable. He is an anchor while she floats in a sea of uncertainty.

The situation isn’t new.

Plenty of times they’ve been in a similar position—she was naked, he was fully dressed. But it is new, now. It has a purpose, an end goal she’s hoping to reach. There is a multitude of feelings clashing, making her shiver.

Desire.

Need.

Shyness.

Insecurity.

Uncertainty.

She trusts him. She trusts him with her life. She’s not afraid _of_ him, but there is also a small dose of fear.

Fear of the new.

Fear of being rejected.

And there is that awkwardness. She is naked not for the purpose of breaking through another wall in her head; she is naked because he told her to be naked. Because he _wants_ her naked.

_But does he want me?_

His hands on her skin. A slight caress. It is an odd sensation—thrilling, bordering on ticklish and yet she wants it. It feels like she is stripped bare, has stripped _off_ her skin. It feels like he’s caressing a raw nerve.

His skin is warm. She remembers how it feels under her lips, the taste of it.

He tugs on her hips, positioning her. She is clay in his hands. And then...that galvanizing sensation. The palpitation against the soft swell of her hip and the rush of blood that comes with that small bit of knowledge.

_He wants me!_

The first strike catches her unprepared. It isn’t painful. Still, the sound jolts her as much as the impact—jolts her into the upward stroke and the jiggle. Swats, rain on thirsty skin. They sting somewhat but not like the bite of leather.

There is heat, but not enough of it to consume her like before. And yet each thwack is loud in her ears, loud enough to overpower the rush of blood; each quiver of flesh reaches the unexpected parts of her.

So many sensations. So many things to focus on. And she can’t focus at all.

She just feels.

She just _is_.

“Are you alright, Miss Granger?” His voice, an anchor.

“Green, Sir.” It is all she can remember to say.

“I see.” He mutters.

The blush creeps up her chest and her cheeks, heating her forehead. It’s not that she wasn’t touched before. But this is the first time she is touched by _him_.

She could sing.

She could scream from happiness.

She could sink into the ground.

His touch is electrifying. The touch also brings her back to reality, more in sync with her body. Her body that’s excited—graphically so, the wetness on her thighs informs her mind.

He tugs her off his lap and she glides to the ground. His arms stop her slide.

“On the bed, Miss Granger.”

“How, Sir?” _Gods, is that my voice?_

“Kneeling will suffice.”

_He sounds so calm._

“Sir…?” She needs to know.

“You may ask.”

She climbs to the bed.

Snow white sheets blinding her. Rustling. She yearns to raise her eyes, to look at him, but she knows better than that.

_He is in control, and still..._

“Will you use the flogger now?” Her voice is thick, she doesn’t know where her limits are.

“Not today, Miss Granger.”

Her heart tumbles down. She exhales sharply to stop the disappointment that bubbles in her chest. The rustling stops. She’s sad.

_Did she make a mistake? They talked—isn’t he going to use everything they talked about?_

His hand is on her chin. His fingers are strong. She can feel it: strength vibrates from his skin to hers. His touch is… _tender_. So gentle when he lifted her head.

He is looking at her. Dark eyes flicker, unreadable and deep. He looks at her over the expense of narrow, wiry pale chest.

His skin. She clenches her arms, an involuntary reaction. Her palms itch to touch him.

“Who is in control, Miss Granger?”

“You, Sir.”

“Do you trust me?” A deep rumble.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Do you wish for us to continue?” There is a harshness, a bit of steel behind his words.

“Green, Sir.”

“Then we will proceed the way I see fit. What colour, Miss Granger?”

“Green, Sir.”

A slight tug upwards of his lips, just a miniscule motion. Her heart speeds up. His thumb brushes her lips as his hand leave her face. It is a loss, so vivid she nearly recoils. Even so, he didn’t tell her to lower her gaze.

So she watches, instead.

He moves away, to the cabinet and rummages through one drawer. She soaks up his image. The sharpness of shoulder blade against the ropy muscles on his back. The curve of his lower back. The slimness of his leg muscles.

He isn’t brawny, but he is a work of art, to her.

And then it hits her. _This is real, it’s really happening._

He walks back to her, so nonchalant that it stops her breath. There’s a rush of blood in her ears. Her eyes, against her will, zero in on one specific spot.

Her mouth is dry. Her voice hitches when she raises her eyes to his.

“May I, Sir?”

“Not now, Miss Granger.”

He raises one hand, a piece of black silk in it. “What do you say to a blindfold?”

Her heart jumps, sinks and jumps again. She is torn. She wants to see him, she wants to be in that darkness.

“Green, Sir.”

 _Is this me?_ _When did I decide?_

His touch electrifies her. She closes her eyes and the black silk caress her face. A touch of magic sends a shiver down her spine. Wetness, between her thighs.

_It’s him._

The bed bends. It shifts. His body, radiating heat. Her breath is fast—loud and sharp in her ears.

Her skin prickles. Erupts into sensitivity under the light touch of his fingertips. There is a feeling so concentrated that it borders on pain. She yearns for more.

Her body arches and sways towards that touch.

A light scrape of short-trimmed nails over her thigh. His fingers sending small shocks down her spine as they slip lower, caressing each vertebra.

A moan rips from her throat.

His satisfied hum.

This is beyond her experience. Beyond everything she’s ever known.

Another moan, almost a cry. The wet sensation. There is no roughness, just the lightest of touches. Before her brain can process, she’s reached out, hands twined with his hair.

_So soft. So silky. Not what it looks like at all._

Her body arcs. His hands...supporting, fanned across her back. His mouth...working a magic of its own. A magic without any magic. She’s a live wire, a conduit that sends electricity in a Y—concentrating it in her until there is nothing but a raw burn of need.

_I’m falling._

She is eased to her back. Cold sheets against too warm skin.

His hands flutter against her, the eruption of goosebumps all over her, even the skin of her scalp prickles.

She wants more of his touches and the light scrapes of his nails and teeth.

She wants less.

Her hands curl, catching the fistfulls of silky white cotton.

The inside of her thigh quivers, his lips are soft and smooth against it. There is a pull inside her. A hurricane that builds the pressure. Unknown urgency.

She is trembling again, shivering eruption caused by his breath and tongue and mouth. He knows how to touch. He knows where to touch. To sent the sparks flying and cajole her system. More wetness, seeping from her.

_I should be embraced by this._

But she isn’t. She is too wound up. Too high strung to care.

The light dissolves around her and she dissolves with it, in a coarse cry and arching of her back. Her heart is a mad drum in her head, she feels it pounding in her ears, in her neck in her... breath.

The bed shifts again. He’s sitting between her wide open thighs. There is no connection at the moment but she doesn’t need it—she can feel him with every fiber of her being. He waits. Patient.

Time ticks away. A minute, an hour, a day, an eternity before the air stops dancing around her. And when she speaks, she can’t recognize her voice.

“May I...reciprocate, Sir?”

A light caress of her inner thigh. “Not today, Miss Granger. That is not what you need.” His hand glides and rests on her small stomach, just above that ticking bomb inside her.

Her hands reach for him, they grope at the air with desperation. _Why am I so desperate? What do I need?_

“The blindfold will stay on.” he informs her.

 _On for what?_ “Green, Sir.”

“I’ll ask just once, Miss Granger.” There is a note of warning in his voice.

The mattress wobbles. There is a heat above her. Her hands reach for the blindfold and he stops her. He’s pinning her hands above her head with only one of his. His breath is heavy and hot in her ear.

“What colour, Miss Granger?”

She tries to free her hands, but his grip is tight. The heat rises, there is that heartbeat inside her again. Heat chokes her, and her body thrums to the unfamiliar beat.

_Green, say green!_

“I’m on the potion.” _No! You mess it up now! What if he... he agreed, but still... This is what_ **_you_ ** _want!_

“Not until you are on the potion I brewed. It is non-negotiable.”

“I...y...please.” _This can’t be me._

And there it is, the connection. It’s all she wanted, it’s not what she imagined. There is so much missing.

She needs to see him.

To touch him.

To feel his skin with her lips.

She’s floating and she’s drowning. There is too much and too little. The cycles of tide go round and round, rolling. Whatever she needs - eludes her.

And there is fear again.

Her hands are free, she grabs his shoulders, clenches hard. There, his breathless voice, soft and silky.

“Shhhhhhhh, I’ve got you. Just relax, little one.”

And there are his lips. They steal her breath, they take her cries and moans.

She is in a vacuum. Her blood beats a strange rhythm; she is pulsating in the void. There is the absence of outside, but she is inside - she exists in that—inside.

~ S ~ S ~ S ~

There is a dual beat in her ear. Her own and his.

His skin is warm, slightly dump, slightly ticklish. He is boney and still comfortable. His body is relaxed next to hers. His arms safeguard her from reality.

_Was that what I wanted?_

It was and it wasn’t. She rolls the images in her head -  there are surprisingly few of them. Only emotions, sensations. But, was that what she’d wanted?

No, it wasn’t. It was what she’d _needed_. Just like he promised.

Her breath hitches just a bit. Realisation spreads the warmth of a different sort. There will be time for what she wants.

Time with _him_.

Her fear bursts like a soap bubble. There is no need. No reason for it. He told her everything. Not with words. His words deceive, they mislead—it is a second nature to him. But she understands.

She finally understands.

All that time, talking. Staring at the same cracks on that wooden floor. All that time she tore down one wall after another, not because of what he did but because of _who_ he was. And she hadn’t even realised until now...

She knows him. She’s learned how to read him. And once her fear is gone - she sees him. Words whisper in her head.

_Little one._

She shivers and his embrace tightens just so. Yes, he has her. And she has him. Everything is as it should be.

Silence and the double-beat.

They dance that dance, but everything else was pre-set. The tune was chosen months ago, on that day, on that wooden floor.

~ THE END ~


End file.
